Sunday, 27 January 2013

AMERICAN 'LOSER': JOHN THOMAS IN MEMORIAM

'American spectators
are frustrated athletes. In the champion, they see who'd they'd like
to be. In the loser, they see what they actually are, and they treat
him with scorn.' John Thomas, who has died aged 71, said that, and though his wasn't quite a
Wide World Of Sports 'agony of defeat' moment, any American of my
generation will recall exactly the amount of scorn which was heaped
on Thomas, whose failings were that he won bronze and silver medals
at successive Olympic games, when he was expected to win gold.

Thomas was a 6-5 17 year
old freshman at Boston University when he became the first man to
high jump 7 feet indoors, and it did it at what was then America's biggest stage, the Millrose Games at New York's Madison Square Garden. By the time the Rome Olympics came along,
he was 19, and held the outdoor world record at 7' 3 3/4” (or 2.23
metres, though in high jumping no one ever talked about breaking the
2.13m barrier) and was considered a sure-thing for a gold medal, in
one of the few events where Americans and Soviets would battle head
to head. His major competition, however, was supposed to come from
his teammates, Charlie Dumas, the defending Olympic champion, who had
been the first to break the 7-foot mark as a 19 year old at the 1956
Olympic trials, and Joe Faust, himself only 17. But both Dumas and
Faust were nursing injuries, and went out of the competition early,
which left Thomas against three Soviets, their champion Victor
Bolshov, the veteran Robert Savalakadze, and yet another teenager, 18
year old Valery Brumel, who had come out of nowhere (actually
Siberia) to clear 7 feet for the first time at the Soviet trials.
Thomas had been bothered by the constant attention he'd received
since arriving in Rome. By the time the bar hit 7' 1” only
Savalakadze, who had never before cleared seven feet, was successful.
Brumel and Thomas were level, but Brumel got the silver based on
fewer misses at lower heights; the two men thus bound together would
become good friends.

Thomas biggest mistake
afterwards may have been being honest. He told the press he was proud
to have won a bronze medal, and was greeted with the scorn reserved
for those whose expectations the media themselves have elevated. Thomas was handsome, athletic, smart--potentially another Cassius Clay. Instead, as he put it, 'I
was called a quitter, a man with no heart. It left me
sick.'

Dumas leapt to Thomas's
defense. 'What do you want – blood?' he asked. 'John jumped seven
feet, but the others simply were better on this particular day. He’s
just a boy...and never has there been greater pressure in high
jumping than here today. Just John left alone against three
Russians.' But few others did.

Four years later in
Tokyo, the pressure was on Brumel, now the world record holder at
2.28m (7' 5 3/4”), but coming off a loss to Savalakadze at the
Soviet championships. He struggled in qualifying, and at 2.14m both
Soviets and Thomas were one jump away from elimination; only the
American John Rambo had cleared the height. But the three men all
made their final jumps, and Brumel and Thomas both went on to 2.18.
When neither could clear 2.20 Brumel took the gold, again based on
fewer misses at lower heights, and Thomas the silver, with Rambo
getting bronze. Yet again, in the eyes of most of America, Thomas had
failed, but in reality he had jumped with a hernia.

The following year,
Brumel would be injured seriously in a motorcycle crash, nearly
severing his right leg. Thomas sent him a telegram which read:
'Sometimes a twist of fate seems to have been put out there to test a
man's strength of character. Don't admit defeat. I sincerely hope you
come back to jump again.' Brumel would indeed jump again, coming
within a quarter-inch of seven feet, but never competed
internationally.

Thomas was born 3 March
1941 in Boston and grew up in Cambridge, Mass., where his father
drove a bus and his mother worked in the kitchens at Harvard. He was
a good enough all-round athlete to consider taking up the decathalon,
but in the end he settled for four NCAA titles, seven AAU national
championships, three world records, and two Olympic medals. He lost
only eight times in his career, but both those Olympic medals go down
as losses.

I always wondered if
part of the problem for Thomas was that he wasn't celebrated enough
in his home town—Boston at the time was known for sporting
frustration. Their only winners were basketball's Celtics, led by
Bill Russell, and many felt the city didn't open to Russell's team
they way they might to their white heroes. I often looked at Patrick
Ewing, doomed to fall short of championships in basketball, as
perhaps being a victim of that same lack of whole-hearted hometown
support.

Yet he gave back much
to the city. After retiring from competition, he coached at BU, and
went into business with the telephone company. Eventually, he worked
as athletic director at Roxbury Community College in Boston, where he
was successful not only on the playing fields, but also on sending
many of his charges, mostly from poor inner city backgrounds, on to
four-year universities. Thomas died 15 January while undergoing heart
surgery in Brockton, Mass., where he lived. He was divorced from his
wife Delores, and is survived by five children.

In the aftermath of the
Rome Olympics, Thomas wrote a letter to his coach at Boston
University. It was eventually made public, but I hadn't seen it before. Thanks to Leigh Montville, who
write a moving tribute to Thomas at the Sports On Earth website, I
can quote it here.

I was almost to the point where I was afraid
of the people. Afraid even to go out of my room because I knew I
would get mobbed. As a matter of fact, I never left the village
except to work out. Then came the day of the meet and I guess within
the space of 12 ½ hours my attitude on life changed.

People think
I’m ashamed of my third place. I’m proud of myself and I hope you
are, too.

I did the very best I could on that given day.

I really learned a lot because now, for the
first time since 1958, I know how it feels to come in behind a
winner. I often wondered how I would react to defeat. Would I sulk
around in a corner and cry on my own – or would I? I took it with
the same attitude you have instilled in me and if luck was with me
maybe I might have won.

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